Delia Prance's Arc

Chapter 36 of 59

The morning after the decree, Arden came to Delia's field. He did not come alone. A court noble rode with him, dressed in fine gray, his eyes moving over the blossoming house and the flower beds like a man counting coins. Delia stood on the porch of the healing house, the wooden lantern post beside her, blue flowers clustered at its base. She knew the field was hers by the king's own word. But Arden kept coming, and each time he came, he studied it like something he might still take. Arden crossed the grass. He is the king's first son, and Delia had once saved his life in secret. Now he wanted more than his life back. "The king made his choice," he said. "A child. First son to father one takes the throne." He looked at her the way he always did, too long. "You could be the one." "No," Delia said. Plain, so it could not be softened. The noble did not care what Arden wanted. He stepped closer and looked at Delia's waist, her face, her hands. He was not measuring the field. He was measuring her. "Are you carrying?" he asked. "The court wants to know which prince to back. A child settles it." Delia understood then. They had not come for her land at all. They had come to read her body like a ledger. If she carried Nick's child, the nobles backed Nick. If not, they turned to Arden. The field was never the prize. She was. Nick came out of the house. He heard the last of it. His voice went flat and hard. "She's my wife. Not a page in your betting book." Arden turned to his brother. "Then give the king an heir. Or step aside." Delia stepped between them before it could become fists. "There is no child," she said. She said it to the noble, loud enough for the field to hear. "Not Nick's. Not any. I lost one already. I will not make another to crown a prince." The noble's mouth tightened. He had his answer, and it broke his errand in half. Neither son could be backed on her account. Arden's face changed. Not to anger. To something quieter. He had built her this house. He had lied to the king to guard her secret. And still she would give him nothing. "You mean it," he said. "I have meant it every time," Delia said. "Go home, Arden. Stop coming to my field. There is nothing here for your crown." He held her look. Then he nodded once, the way Nick did, and mounted his horse. The noble followed. They rode off toward the palace with no answer to sell. Delia watched the dust settle. The field was hers, cleanly hers now, cleared of princes. But she knew the court would not stop wanting the thing her body might hold. They would only look for another way in.